


Let it go

by ThralionExists



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional One shot, Galion comforts, Gen, Legolas leaves, Short One Shot, Thranduil deals with it, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThralionExists/pseuds/ThralionExists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas has, finally, decided to leave Mirkwood. All goodbye's are said- all except for one. But how will his Father take the news of his Ion leaving him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it go

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the result of no sleep, and a little bit of sweet revenge for the feels I were dealt earlier on the night. This person knows who they are. Enjoy!

There was no waiting behind overly polished doors on this morning. Any and all formality would be best left unused. This, he had to do.  
Slowly Legolas walked in, already wishing to be merely a ghost in the halls of his King, his face in that trained stoic mask. Portraits of his Kin from a time he could hardly bare to remember littered the walls in a carefully exhibited fashion, displaying the love that he must have once felt. It was a cruel joke. Rich tapestries of Gold and Red hung from the walls, looking now as bleak as he felt. 

It all used to mean something, and now it means nothing. He had to break free. Let it go. All he had to do was say goodbye to his only Kin. How hard could that be?

Before him stood his King and Father, absently pouring more wine into a chalice, waiting to hear what he had to say. 

“I'm leaving.” The firm voice echoed in the emptiness of the hall, and the Prince prayed to the Valar that that was not how empty his words sounded. Time passed, no reaction was given. Perhaps he had not been heard?

“Close the door.” And so he did, not moving any closer to his Father.  
Let it go.  
Decorated hands placed down their burdens, and slowly the King turned, mouth in a grim line at the sight of a hand firmly held in the air. 

“There is nothing left for you to say, Adar. It is too late. I have said my farewells to Galion- you are my last.” He was met with a painful nothing. Not a tilt of the head, nor a quirk of the lip. It was a face as dead as the Wood around him. 

An anger stirred in the younger Elf, bitter and writhing in his stomach, spilling its vicious acid in sharp eruptions. “Will you not even speak? Not a word?” He shouted, breaking the air around them both. The ElvenKing turned back to his table to slowly take back his half full glass.  
“Does anything get through to you? Or should I shout it from the Mountains?” Pacing, pacing backwards and forwards he seethed. “Am I nothing to you? Perhaps if I brought you jewels your eye would bat at least!” And still, nothing. Only heavy breath from the Prince could be heard.  
“Thranduil!”

The unmoved King slammed his hand on the oak table, metal rings mimicking the sounds of clashing blades. “Daro, Legolas!” He hissed, striding towards his son.

“Stop what, Adar? Am I hitting your guarded nerves?” He spat back, strongly meeting his Father's eyes, his own the exact replica. 

“What do you wish for me to say? To beg? If I am that much of a torment, then take your leave!” He said with the clamour of apathy he had possessed for an Age, bending to the hight of his accuser. Legolas could not feel the sickness in his Father's stomach, nor the breathtaking pain that threatened to overcome him as soon as those words reached his ears.  
He is letting go.

Legolas flinched at the tone inflicted on him, stiffening his posture and biting back just as hard. “I wish for you to say something- anything!” Icy eyes on icy eyes, they stared, neither wanting to make any move. “Please?”

“I do not know what comfort you expect to find from the one you abandon, Legolas.” 

“Abandon? You of all can not talk of these things! I have not seen my Father for many years.” Just forget about it. Get rid of those memories. Let it go.

“Cease your dialogue! Do you forget I am your King? You act like a brat.” His words did not sound false, but fierce. If only the Prince knew just how the throat was being torn from the body that wrongly spoke them.

“Then I rid you of my company, My King, and save you the strain of finding the words I hoped to receive. Forgive me for wasting your time.” He pivoted, eager to get away from the intense heat of the room. 

The Elder blinked. Would he give up so easily? Would he ever have the heart to call this home again?  
Thranduil's eyes were cast down, arms deflating at his sides, shoulders slumped.  
“Do not leave me, Ion. Please.” It was barely a whisper, so quiet not a morsel of air had departed his lungs. If it was because there was no air in the room, Thranduil could not tell. 

With a hand tensed on the Crystal handle the Elf paused, half turned towards the other.  
Let it go, Legolas. Leave.

“Adar?

It was pitiful, seeing the magnificent King so utterly defeated. A wetness clouded his vision, and he bit his lip as traitorous tears threatened to overflow. Why must it be so difficult?

“Anything you ask of me, Ada, I will do it. But I cannot stay. Not here.” He advanced slowly, hands stretching to comfort silk-clad shoulders, his own body weighed down with grief as he leaned heavily against his Father. “This will not be the last you see of me, Ada. I promise.” He sighed, reluctantly letting go slowly. 

“It is you who must forgive me- I have foolishly let you slip away.” Thranduil spoke lowly. How it pained Legolas to feel victorious over his Father's guilty admittance.  
“I forgive you, Ada.” Legolas said at length, now at the door again.

“Legolas?” He turned, desperately wanting to salvage any hope he could, yet having no will to do so. The Paintings still held no love or memory, the tapestry still no more appealing than they were a moment ago, but the solemn tone of his Kin was hope enough. 

“I Love you, above all.” A brief, sad smile crossed the face of the King, and it had spread to his heir. That was all Legolas had needed to hear for more than a century, and more than he could bare to stand now that he was departing.

With a hesitant bow the Young Elf left the room, not a backwards glance to spare. He would find a new road in the North, make new tales and find his own kinds of treasure, the kind he dreamed of finding long ago.  
He would never let go of these Memories. 

 

A Butler to the King stood at the end of a hallway, bowing his respects to a rushing Prince. Slowly he crept to the bejewelled door, poking his head around and slipping in. The King stood still, looking at a portrait of an Elfling standing proudly next to his Father with wonder.

“You let him go?” He was met with the usual unhelpful silence he was so accustomed to. “He is not your little Elf any more. He has to find his feet, Thranduil.”

A well groomed hand found its way to a ring clad one, fingers threading with other fingers. 

“I know, Galion.”

**Author's Note:**

> Basic Elvish translations:  
> Daro- Stop  
> Ada-Dad  
> Adar- Father


End file.
